She's a fighter, not a lover
by GaelicEyes10
Summary: The Bronx fighter is tough, feared, and respected. But what happens when they find themself on the other side of the rivalries and amidst a murder?


**AN: Yup, I'm back with a whole new fic! YAY! _An Unforgotten Past _will be having sequel come out within the next week or so, so keep a heads up for that one too. This one is interesting, to say the least. I'm taking alot of time on it, but I will get you all your updates! **

**Oh, and I still don't own the Newsies. When I get rich, I'll buy them though and then I will own them. PSSSHHH...**

**_Chapter One_**

_The Bronx Fighter_

The hard earned title of the Bronx Fighter is something no one takes for granted. In itself, very few qualified for the un-official role as the fighter for this certain borough. Because, if one thought about it, the fighter not only goes up against fighters from Queens, but Manhattan as well. Not to mention any of Brooklyn's newsies or, for that matter, Spot Conlon himself. It didn't matter that Spot was tough because Bronx was known for the fighters they brought into the world of newsies. No, what really brought it all down was that Spot didn't give in. He may be pummeled but he wasn't giving up the fight unless he was absolutely sure he had to. And to be absolutely sure in his sense, it pretty much meant he had to be carried away from the fight. He could find the weak spots in a persons demeanor in a matter of moments. He wasn't the deadly type of fighter the Bronx turned out, but the sly kind. Manhattan brought out the rough fighters and Queens brought out the passionate fighters.

But Bronx was a whole other tale within itself. For five years it had been a tradition to hold competitions to find a new fighter. And unlike the other boroughs, Bronx's competitions were pure brutality and strength. It was a week long trial for and at the end, there would only be two or three newsies still left standing. A fight would then ensue between all remaining newsies and whoever was standing at the end was crowned the new fighter. The fighters in the Bronx are not meant to be messed with. Any disrespect towards members of the borough, or the borough itself earned the joker a quick fist to the face and gut. Sometimes this lead to a group coming down to the Bronx, angered at what happened and desiring revenge for their friend. Those unfortunates usually found themselves in worse conditions than the person they came down to avenge. The smart ones usually just stayed away from the Bronx, knowing full well they didn't want to instigate a problem with it's fighter.

Now, to lay the story out, fighters are not feared in the actual borough but instead are highly respected and well-liked. Sure there are a few bad apples here and there with differing opinions, but no one really takes care to notice. The fighters nominated themselves for the title, but the rest of the borough voted who would actually be in the competition. Those who were not liked by most of the group never made it into the fighters circle. Therefore, the fighter is backed in any argument they may have with a warring borough. And the Bronx wasn't known for having the best reputation for not warring with places like Brooklyn. More recently, however, a sort of peace was beginning to fall upon the two enemies.

Which was precisely why Spot Conlon had chosen that day to visit the Bronx's main lodging house. Bronx's newly appointed fighter lived there and Spot wanted to take a look at him before he started anything new with the Bronx.

Rachel Sullivan's life was near perfect. That is, it was near perfect for herself being without a family and pretty much without a place to really call home. Sure, the Bronx was her home, but not a place where she could marry and grow up. And it certainly wasn't a place to come and sit by the fire and just think. You couldn't think at night in the main lodging house. It was full of newsies jumping around and relaying the day's stories to each other. Whether it was a couple of bulls they outran or an irritated customer, each story had its own character to it, even if it was identical to the one right before it. But she loved to hear her friends talk. Just to sit around and watch them tell their stories with such animation made her day.

Which was exactly what she was doing when Spot Conlon walked into the lodging house and, perhaps, into her life. Most of the room had quieted when he walked in, but the area where she was sitting was what was called the veterans circle. They had been around long enough to not care who walked through the front door, so long as it wasn't a scab or a bull. Spot Conlon to that area was nothing but another person looking to talk to the leader of the clan, Martin Adams, or Marty for short. Marty had run the show for the past six years and he also happened to be the one who took in Rachel when she came by and ever since the two have been like brother and sister. Marty had taken a shine to Rachel, with her fiery temper and hold-nothing-back personality. She was quite the character and anyone who had met her would admit to it. Marty had been one of the few people she first met that didn't hit on her the instant she walked in. She won the grand prize in the looks department with her chocolate brown eyes and hair and an ivory face. She was tough and it showed in her build as well as the fire in her eyes. A small silver cross, a gift from her now deceased mother, hung around her neck like an ornament. She found herself more comfortable in pants and a shirt than a skirt. Not only did it make it easier for her to walk, but she seemed to sell more papes since the customers felt pity for her. Not that she could complain, she needed the money. Her arm muscles were toned, mostly from the amount of papes she carried and the fights she occasionally got into. It wasn't that she was a tomboy, because she was far from it. Having her own room in the house gave her an advantage to always make sure she looked good, without the playfully teasing remarks from her fellow housemates. Every morning she got up early just to completely scrub her skin and tame her wild curls. Her best friend, Spell, was the only one who truly brought out her girly side though. With Spell, Rachel could just let loose and act like the wild child she was.

Rachel smiled as she listened to a story about the Manhattan newsies strike a few months before. When Crutchy had arrived to tell the Bronx of the news, Rachel was the one who had been there with Marty to talk about whether or not they should help out. Kevin McIntyre, who was telling the story, had just gotten to the part where Marty agreed to lend a hand when Marty himself walked towards the group.

Looking up, Rachel noticed Marty making a beeline for her. His grey eyes were clouded with what looked like worry and a mix of fear and apprehension. Rachel, sensing her friends anxiety, sat up straighter in the large overstuffed chair. "Marty?" She said, tucking strands of curls behind her ears.

"Rach," Marty said, sighing. "C'mon, Conlon wants to see you."

Rachel's eyes bugged out as the area around her quieted. "He what?"

"Wants to see you and don't give me that look, you know why."

Huffing, Rachel got up. "Take the chair you'll answer to me," she told the rest of the group. They, themselves, were too shocked by the news of Spot wanting to see Rachel to do anything but nod. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Rachel walked slightly behind Marty as they weaved their way through the throngs of newsies to the room where Spot sat waiting.

Opening the door, Rachel walked in to see Spot sitting comfortably on the chair usually reserved for Rachel, with two of his cronies behind him. "You asked to see me?" Rachel said, not even bothering to sit or say hi.

Spot gave Rachel a weird look before looking back at Marty. "Adams, I asked for your fighter. She ain't no fighter."

Marty sighed, running his hands through the thick mane of black hair that sat atop his head as Rachel shot a dagger look at Spot. "Conlon, she is the fighter. She beat out everyone else."

Spot let out a short laugh. "Listen, dat ain't a fighter. No goil can be a fighter."

"Wanna bet?" Rachel asked, putting her hand on her hip and giving the leader of Brooklyn a look.

"Sorry doll, I'm not a betting man. 'Specially when I know I'd win it." Spot smirked.

Rachel stalked towards him, the glare growing deeper. Marty, knowing nothing that he did would stop them, just watched. "Well, Spotty-boy maybe you should become a betting man. I'm the Bronx's new fighter whether you like it or not. And if you have a problem with it, we can settle it, fighter to fighter."

Spot's eyes narrowed at the name she called him and the way she spoke to him, like he was a lowly rat. "Listen here Rachel Sullivan. I ain't taking any crap from the likes of you. And I'm not going to fight you because I don't hit girls."

"Don't hit girls or just plain afraid of being _beat_ by a girl?"

Spot shot up at her remark, striding towards her. Unlike others Rachel didn't back down at the pissed off look on Spot's face. He pointed a finger in her face. "Take it back."

Rachel smiled smugly. "No. You brought it on yourself."

Spot's teeth clenched. "You little…"

"What? Finish that sentence Spot, I dare you!" Rachel yelled in frustration.

"Fuck it," Spot said quietly, brushing past Rachel and out the door. His two cronies started to follow when Rachel turned on her heel and ran after him.

"We're not finished with this Spot!" She yelled, picking up her pace as she ran through the room after him. "Spot!"

Ignoring her Spot continued on, pushing open the door and rushing out only to be greeted by Oscar and Morris Delancey and about ten of their friends. "Fuck." Spot muttered under his breath as he heard the door slam open. Looking back he saw Rachel's shocked face as she stepped closer to him. Behind her Oscar's thugs quickly closed the circle, cutting off Marty and Spot's two newsies from entering the circle. Spot and Rachel's eyes locked for a moment before she tore them away to look at Oscar.

"What do you want Oscar?" She said, her fists clenching at her sides.

Oscar smiled haughtily. "Well, I think we both know that Rachel."

Spot shot a look of confusion towards Rachel of which she ignored, instead choosing to stare down Oscar. "Leave Oscar," Rachel said, stepping forward. "Just get the hell out of here. I don't want your friends to witness how you lost to a girl."

Oscar frowned, walking towards her. "I'm not going to lose to you because I'm here for you."

Rachel looked back at him and raised her chin. "I'm not leaving here with anyone, especially not with you."

Oscar shook his head slowly as he walked to her. Spot, known for finding fears in everyone, had found Rachel's even though she didn't show it. Oscar Delancey was her worst fear. The absolute terror of having to be alone with him even for a second, or being near him scared the shit out of her and he could tell just by the way she clenched her fists.

"Now Rachel, don't talk about us like that."

"There is no 'us'," Rachel spat back out. "There never has been and there never will be. You, Oscar Delancey, are scum."

Oscar's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?" He asked, sneering.

Rachel clenched her fists even harder, her nails digging into her palms. "I said you are _scum._"

Before anyone could react, Oscar grabbed Rachel, trapping her against him and locking her arms in place. It didn't stop her from trying to get out of his grasp though by slamming her knees into his. Hissing in pain Oscar only tightened his hold on her, digging his own nails into her skin. As soon as she cried out in pain, Spot's shock wore off him and he sprang at the two of them, but Morris grabbed him by the arm, swinging him around. As Spot's fist connected with Morris's face another went to Morris's gut, making him double over in pain. By this time, most of the Bronx newsies were able to push their way into the fight, along with Spot's own newsies that had come along. Spot figured there were enough of them to take care of Oscar's buddies so Spot turned his attention back to Oscar and Rachel. Oscar had started dragging Rachel away, but wasn't making much progress seeing as Rachel was digging her feet into his shins and toes in order for him to let her go. When that didn't work, Rachel resorted to one last thing. As soon as his face came near hers with she reached out her face and bit him on the cheek hard. Crying out in pain, Oscar threw her from him, making her body slam into a concrete wall. As she fell to the ground, limp as a rag doll, Spot took the opportunity to launch himself at Oscar, tackling him to the ground and punching him in the face. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Spot lifted his head off the ground long enough to give Oscar a quick bit of advice. "Don't ever fucking hit her again, got it?" Spot said before slamming Oscar's head down then jumping off him to turn his attention to Rachel.

Rushing over, Spot knelt beside her limp body, gently shaking her shoulders to wake her up. "Rachel!" Spot cried softly. "Damn it wake up!" Lifting her up onto his lap he felt for her pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the static beat underneath his fingertips. "Thank fucking god," he whispered under his breath. He could see the long scratches on her face from where her head connected with the wall. Pushing back her hair from her face, Spot noticed a small, but jagged scar running down from the side of her neck to her collarbone where it disappeared underneath her shirt. Before he could ponder on it any more, however, he heard her groan and he immediately snapped back into his senses. "Rachel? Rachel, wake up." Spot begged quietly as she moved her head from side to side, finally opening her eyes sleepily.

"Spot?" She murmured, looking up at him with curious eyes. "What the hell happened?"

"Oscar threw ya into a concrete wall when you bit him. Yer lucky you survived."

"Am I now?" She smiled mischievously. "Well, did you get in a few punches for me then? Or am I going to be able to do that myself?"

"We got in punches for you." Spot heard a voice say from above him. Looking up he saw Marty standing there with a worried expression on his face. "But we gotta get you outa here Rach. And I mean by tonight."

"What?" Rachel said sitting up, only to feel a sudden rush of wooziness come over her. "Oh, ouch," she said, putting her hand to her forehead before laying back down, half on Spot's lap and half off.

"I said I think you should get out of here. He'll be back with more guys and we won't be able to handle them."

"Where do you expect me to go Marty? It's not like I've got family I can run to."

"Well," Marty said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "You do have one person you can go to, Francis."

Rachel shook her head. "No, not Francis, it's just not happening. Are you fucking kidding me? It's too obvious. Oscar already hates my cousin as it is, and me going there will just give him more incentive to beat the crap out of people. No, out of the question."

Spot broke in. "Marty, she can't go to Manhattan. Oscar'll know she went directly there. Jack is her cousin so that'll be the first place Oscar will look soon as he finds out she's not here."

"Well, what the hell are we going to do?" Marty said, exasperated. "I mean, she can't go to Manhattan, she can't stay here. We've got beef with Queens, where the hell is she supposed to stay." Marty was about to kick the wall before Spot cut in.

"She'll stay in Brooklyn."

**A/N: Well, yeah...sorta cliff-hanger and sorta-not. There's a whole motive behind Spot's reason for this decision also. Next chapter will be longer and more characters will be brought in.  
Review please darlings! **


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